Dear Eleanor Margot saying hello
Four weeks in, and your dad and I are rather taken with you. I was expecting the sleepless nights, projectile vomit, poonamis, but I wasn't expecting you to be so funny.
Dear Eleanor Margot,
Four weeks in, and your dad and I are rather taken with you. I was expecting the sleepless nights, projectile vomit, poonamis, but I wasn’t expecting you to be so funny. Your Yoda-esque gurning face, the well-timed rumbles in your nappy, your sly smiles, the way you blow raspberries on my boob as you miss the nipple, the way you look like a tiny E.T. when curled up in your hoodie.
The true sleep deprivation hasn’t yet set in. You are yet to poop all over the pale sofa, or the fancy chairs. You have pooped in mummy’s face once, which may or may not have instigated 24 hours of diarrhoea, but at least you didn’t get the sofa. Yet.
When you were still a bump in my belly, it was hard to imagine life with you. Would I feel maternal? Would I know what to do, or be embarrassingly clueless? Would I cope with the total change in lifestyle? Then along you came, and it all just feels so… normal. So lovely, and happy and, in many ways, remarkably unremarkable. You’re part of the Kearney clan now. We are a little family, and that just feels unexpectedly natural.
We’re clueless for sure, but not embarrassingly so. You cry and gripe sometimes, but not to the point of frustration (yet). We don’t venture too far now, but it’s not as though we were out clubbing every night before. So welcome to the family Ellie. I think you’ll feel right at home. You already do.
Anyway, enough typing for now. Back to staring at your cute little face. And eating chocolate biscuits to stay awake.
We’re looking forward to watching you grow.
(Actually, being called mummy is the one thing that does feel pretty odd)
Update – she got the sofa 😃